Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Today was a pretty decent day. My husband took our son for a long bike ride. The Kid’s first on his new mountain bike. For a first ride, he did just shy of 10 miles! My hubby says he never once had to get off the bike and shame-walk it like I did when I was getting used to the gears. ( please read that as if i am now very much a pro at gear shifting) *snort*
I even was able to put up a few Halloween decorations. It was great! … until it wasn’t. My daughter, free toed spirit that she is, was out front without shoes. We put up my holiday pride; my new Jack Skelington inflatable, when she got a splinter in her foot from standing on a rock. Head scratcher, eh? She limped all the way to her bath and showed me her foot in the tub. The thing was sticking out perfectly. Prime position to be easily tweezed right out of her skin. Easy Tweezy. Except that she was screaming bloody murder refusing to let me remove it. … screaming in the echo-y bathtub. In the acoustically-advanced bathroom. …. for twenty minutes straight.
My son, being the big helper that he is, was taunting her the whole time from the shower next to the tub, “Just take it out, mom!” “Ok, say goodbye to your blue blanket!” “I guess you don’t want blue blanket, then!”
(her most favorite, prized, better-than-a-paci, lovey, chewy, germ infested, stinky sucked on treasure)
“Thanks for the help, kid, but no thanks. Take your shower and be gone!”
After walking away, tagging in the husband, then coming back to help we managed to get the thing after grabbing and holding her while she hung head-down over the side of the bed hollering the whole time.
To say I have a raging headache is the understatement of the year.
The killer , though, was her little face after it was all over. She was delirious from the crying. She was exhausted from the effort. She was hysterical from being scared of the pain. She just sat on her floor and maniacally giggled and said, “It doesn’t hurt anymore!” With a wide-eyed disbelieving stare.
I picked her up and carried her downstairs to see the new inflated Jack all lit up (now that it’s dark out) and on the way down she says to me, “Mommy, i’m sorry for yelling at you.”
It took everything not to hug her and tell her to forget any of it happened. It was ridiculous to get so hysterical over a tiny, eensy, microscopic splinter (in truth, my husband couldn’t even see it) and it’s not ok to go into hysterics over refusing to let someone help her….. but on the other hand, it was heart breaking to watch her be so terrified and then instantly be apologetic and sincere about it.
Honestly, i’m not used to the quick turn around. My son would have been flipping me off and shutting doors in my face still if it were him.
Just another day in paradise!